Andrew’s mother had fallen silent. She was seated in a chair in Wilma’s kitchen. Wilma could hardly throw her out; Wilma was the town mother. The unofficial matriarch. The woman everyone looked to in times of trouble. And now, the spiritual leader they all relied on.
Wilma watched the woman as she prepared the days bread.
This wasn’t what Wilma wanted. She had never planned on getting so involved. She was in it for the money. Owning, and now running, a bakery all on her own was exhausting and payed barely enough to cover her expenses.
When Brock first came to town, he wanted a place to stay. That’s all. Wilma showed him kindness and what did she get in return? Manipulated into helping his scheme.
Wilma had been tricked.
Wilma thought back to the first night Brock had broached his plan. They had been sitting in the kitchen in front of the fire, enjoying a glass of brandy.
“All I’m asking is, who would it take? There must be someone you would love to see dead.”
Wilma would’ve never spoken to anyone about the subject, but the brandy had gotten the best of her.
Wilma stared into the fire. “Gilford” she muttered as she took a drink.
“Gilford” Brock had repeated.
Wilma nodded.
“Imagine with me, Wilma: One man dead, and all the riches you could ever need. You could fix this place up a little”
Wilma shot an angry look Brocks way “What does that mean?” She was defensive of her shop.
“Oh, I just mean it could use some work. Are you going to climb up to the top of this roof and fix the leaks?”
Wilma had laughed. “No, I’m much too old for that.”
“Then wouldn’t a little extra money be nice? Or maybe…a lot of money? And Gilford would be dead as an added bonus”
Wilma shook her head and returned to the present. That had been months ago and the plan had changed more times than she could count. She wanted out. She wanted to tell Brock his plan had worked and he needed to move on. She wanted to tell him to leave and never come back. But she was powerless.
She couldn’t come clean now. If she was exposed, she would be done for. She would be charged with murder and killed.
Brock had control. This ended only when he said it did. Wilma hadn’t gotten her share of the money yet, and couldn’t very well go and take it. She was an old woman. Brock was much too strong to challenge physically and much too smart to let her in the reservoir without him.
She was well and truly stuck.
Wilma watched the woman as she prepared the days bread.
This wasn’t what Wilma wanted. She had never planned on getting so involved. She was in it for the money. Owning, and now running, a bakery all on her own was exhausting and payed barely enough to cover her expenses.
When Brock first came to town, he wanted a place to stay. That’s all. Wilma showed him kindness and what did she get in return? Manipulated into helping his scheme.
Wilma had been tricked.
Wilma thought back to the first night Brock had broached his plan. They had been sitting in the kitchen in front of the fire, enjoying a glass of brandy.
“All I’m asking is, who would it take? There must be someone you would love to see dead.”
Wilma would’ve never spoken to anyone about the subject, but the brandy had gotten the best of her.
Wilma stared into the fire. “Gilford” she muttered as she took a drink.
“Gilford” Brock had repeated.
Wilma nodded.
“Imagine with me, Wilma: One man dead, and all the riches you could ever need. You could fix this place up a little”
Wilma shot an angry look Brocks way “What does that mean?” She was defensive of her shop.
“Oh, I just mean it could use some work. Are you going to climb up to the top of this roof and fix the leaks?”
Wilma had laughed. “No, I’m much too old for that.”
“Then wouldn’t a little extra money be nice? Or maybe…a lot of money? And Gilford would be dead as an added bonus”
Wilma shook her head and returned to the present. That had been months ago and the plan had changed more times than she could count. She wanted out. She wanted to tell Brock his plan had worked and he needed to move on. She wanted to tell him to leave and never come back. But she was powerless.
She couldn’t come clean now. If she was exposed, she would be done for. She would be charged with murder and killed.
Brock had control. This ended only when he said it did. Wilma hadn’t gotten her share of the money yet, and couldn’t very well go and take it. She was an old woman. Brock was much too strong to challenge physically and much too smart to let her in the reservoir without him.
She was well and truly stuck.
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